Epilogue #2
“I love it when you ask nicely.” He raises his voice, finding Sloane and Liz. “We’re going to head home. Frankie needs a nap before you guys come over. Take your time.”
They know what I need, but I have the best friends in the world, because they feign innocence and make noises about yes, later, maybe five thirty?
I actually do need a little nap after the excitement, but I take it in the car on the drive home to Venice. I wake up as Logan steers our car into the narrow garage on the back of the canal house.
“Home sweet home, Frankie.” He turns the car off. “Wake up, Doc.”
“I’m awake,” I murmur.
Inside, I find the house has been transformed in the few hours that we’ve been gone. Mystery elves have decorated the main floor with fresh flowers and graduation balloons, and set our dining room table for our guests later.
“What is this?” I turn around slowly, taking it all in.
“I’m spoiling my wife because she’s incredible.” Logan puts the keys in their spot, then follows me to the stairs, where more flowers decorate the landing on the second floor.
I step up one stair, then look back.
Logan’s gaze is tangled on my bare legs.
He grins shamelessly as he glances up to meet my eyes. “Keep going. I love to watch you head up these stairs ahead of me.”
On the second floor, where the artist who lived here before had her art studio, we now have a guest room and a workout space for Logan. One of her paintings is hung in a place of honor.
At the top of the next flight of stairs, in between our bedroom and the room we’ll use as a nursery in the fall, there’s a massive oversized mirror.
Once again, I catch my husband looking at me hungrily as I get to the top of the stairs.
I stop and watch him in the reflection as he joins me. With him a step below me, his mouth is at exactly the right level to kiss me on the back of my neck.
Instinctively, I straighten up, and he groans as his mouth drags down onto the top of my spine, just above the top of my dress.
“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? I love how you always fix your posture when I kiss you here.”
“I don’t.” But I can feel it, that proud tension I told in my body when I know he’s giving me attention.
“You do. You were made to be a very good girl, and when you know that’s appreciated, you really rise to it.”
I’m blushing.
He shifts me forward so he can join me on the landing in front of the mirror. Now he’s much taller than me, his chin nudging against the side of my head as he curves around me to pull my sundress smooth over the now obvious bump there.
He holds my gaze as he rubs his big hands over my belly, then inches my skirt up, revealing my thighs and then my panties. “Hold your skirt for me.”
I put my hands where his are. He kneels behind me, unbuckling my heels first, helping me out of them reverently. Then he peels my panties off, leaving me standing in front of the mirror barefoot and completely revealed from the hips down.
Pussy on display.
I squirm, but I don’t let my skirt drop.
He curves one hand over my thigh, pushing his fingers between my legs. “Who loves this pussy?”
I giggle.
But he’s serious. “Who. Loves. This. Pussy?”
“You do,” I whisper.
He grazes my clit as he strokes his touch higher, under my skirt, to caress my bare bump. “And who loves this pregnant belly?”
“You do.”
“That’s fucking right.” He kisses my hip, then lies down in front of the mirror. He’s so long his legs hang over the stairs, knees bending so his feet rest on the second top step. “Sit on my face, Dr. Francesca.”
Heat rolls through me as I lower myself to kneel on either side of his head.
"That's it. Good girl. Now let me see you." He brushes his thumbs against my pussy lips, stroking me wide open for his gaze first, then his lips as he kisses me there. Just once. A brief tease before he looks back up at me and gets bossy again. “Watch yourself in the mirror."
I’m so close to it that all I can mostly see is my lust-blown face, but the rest of the image is beautifully erotic—me kneeling over my husband's face, dress hiked up, pregnant belly on display. Him almost completely obscured, because his focus is on my cunt.
Just thinking about his favorite word for my sex is enough to make me clench around nothing, and he must see it, because he groans. “That’s it, baby. You're so fucking beautiful like this. Do you see it? Do you see what I see?"
When I hesitate, he puts a light swat on my ass.
"Eyes on the mirror, Frankie. I want you to watch yourself come apart."
Then his mouth is on me, and I gasp at the first stroke of his tongue. He's relentless, alternating between broad licks and focused attention on my clit, and I can't look away as I watch myself respond.
My lips part and my eyes grow hooded as I pant his name, my voice cracking.
He doubles his efforts, one hand splayed across my belly, the other gripping my hip to hold me steady as I start to shake. I can feel the orgasm building, that familiar tension coiling tighter and tighter.
"I can't—it's too much—"
He growls around my clit as if to say yes, you can.
The combination of his words and his talented mouth pushes me over the edge. I come with a cry, my whole body trembling, and he holds me through it, licking me gently until the aftershocks fade.
When I finally open my eyes, I’m not looking in the mirror anymore. I’m staring down at him, and he’s grinning up at me with my arousal glistening on his lips.
"See?" he says softly. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “You’re so good to me.”
He helps me slide off his chest, then climbs to his feet. An erection strains at his dress pants.
I reach for it. For him.
“Let me be good for you, too.”
He cups my face. “You always are.”
Unzipping his fly, I free his cock and wrap my fingers around it.
Now it’s his turn to watch in the mirror, lust making his gaze heavy as I take him in my mouth.
I love doing this. I love being slutty and sexy for him, knowing that he’ll always treat that like a precious gift, something to protect. Because I am someone to protect, to love and cherish.
And in the safety of that kind of marriage, it’s so easy and wonderful to admit that I want my husband to shove his cock into my mouth, to make me take his seed on my tongue because he’s already planted it in my belly.
I smile around his erection and he fists his hand in my hair.
“What are you thinking about, wife?” His chest heaves. “You’re giggling to yourself as you suck my cock.”
“Sorry,” I mumble as I return my efforts to getting him off.
“Don’t be sorry. It feels fucking good.”
That makes me laugh out right, and he snaps his hips, driving a spurt of seed right into my throat.
Oh, he likes that a lot.
I moan around him and swallow hard, making him tip forward and slap the mirror. I keep swallowing as he loses control and spills his release on my tongue, filling my mouth.
“Oh you good little cocksucker. Holy shit. Francesca Granger, I love you so fucking much. Take it. Take all of it. That’s my girl. That’s my best fucking girl.”
When he finishes pulsing, I lick my lips and then kiss the sensitive head of his softening but still thick cock.
He hisses in pleasure.
I hold up my hand and he helps me to stand.
Curves over me.
Kisses me long and hard and deep.
And then he carries me to bed and we do it again, this time together.